


to defy divine fate

by fshep



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Siren Mikleo, Sirens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-19 09:12:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5961930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fshep/pseuds/fshep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's told that his song is a gift.</p><p>It wouldn't be the first time they've gotten something wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've taken a few liberties with this AU (such as adding an entire lake to Elysia's surrounding geography), but much remains the same. As this has nothing to do with the story of the Shepherd, there is no risk of spoilers. Enjoy!

When he first opens his eyes to the world, he is encompassed by water. To him, it feels like warmth and comfort. He discerns nothing but infantile reactions, fleeting yet impacting.

He is a _baby_. The word is mumbled under an old man’s breath as he cradles wrinkled hands around the baby’s form, mere minutes after awakening. The old man soon learns that the newborn does not take lightly to being separated from the large, sweeping lake at his feet. The current rages below the surface while strong arcs of water arise and crash, chaotic yet awe-inspiring.

In the end, the baby is left alone.

There are several others who decide to debate this within the lake’s proximity.

“Gramps could easily overpower a small seraph. I just don’t understand why he chose not to.”

“But you can sense it too, can't you? That baby feels nothing like a seraph. Or—goodness, me—a _human_. You know better than to interfere with nature. And that’s what this is, right? He just… appeared, when Gramps felt the breach in his domain.”

“… Well. There’s no sense in questioning his decision, I suppose. He’s never steered us wrong before. Still, something seems wrong about leaving such a small thing out to be alone in that great big mass of water.”

“He looks perfectly content to me.”

“Mm.”

An indiscriminate amount of time later, the old man is back. By now, the baby has wide, open eyes, twinkling like artfully refined amethyst. He still doesn’t do much other than float along the surface, but it's clear that his body is changing with each passing day. Growing.

The old man sits along the lake’s bank, now knowing better than to initiate an unwelcome touch. He speaks for a while, low and soothing. The last thing he does before departing is give the baby a promise that he will assume the role of caretaker—and a name.

_Mikleo_.

 

* * *

 

Eight months pass. Mikleo senses a particular breach of territory that causes him to cry and cry and cry, echoing and penetrating throughout the mountains. His throat doesn’t stop producing noise until it’s raw and scratchy—until all that fizzles past his lips are high-pitched gasps and aborted whines.

Nobody is able to console him. The seraphim complain and grumble a bit at the continued disruption, but the only one who cries with him is the newborn  _human_ baby who’d arrived that day.

“I see. Empathetic from the start, hmm? Hush now, Sorey; you must be exhausted.”

 

* * *

 

Growing up is a mutual learning experience for Mikleo and the people of Elysia. As the years tick by, Mikleo’s comprehension and awareness are enhanced. His body visibly changes—the length of his hair and limbs, the structure of his face.

At least once a day, one or multiple villagers stop by to spend time with Mikleo. They don’t enter the water without permission (which is never given, so it stands that Mikleo is the only one who has ever been in the sacred lake since his arrival). Natalie and Mason sit at the water's edge in the warm sand. They speak of nothing and everything; sometimes, only to each other, and Mikleo is content to listen.

It’s a routine. Mikleo wakes as the sun rises. The seraphim filter in and out throughout the morning. He has lessons for several hours, and as the moon takes the sun’s place, he sings. Sometimes the seraphim hang around to listen, but that is not necessary, he learns; many have said they can still hear his voice from the highest point in Elysia. When Mikleo looks worried by this, he’s assured that it is a blessing—for his voice is beyond any degree of song.

Once, Ed stops by. He’s chewing on a piece of prickleboar jerky, and Mikleo’s brows immediately pull inward.

“What are you _doing_?”

“Eating,” he replies, simple and cheeky. When the young boy’s eyes narrow into slits, he releases a laugh of amusement. “C’mon, is it so strange? Sorey does it several times a day.”

_Sorey_. The elusive human he's never _once_ seen, let alone  _met_. Mikleo stifles his pout. If only he could put a face to the name. As it stands, he knows this much: “Sorey is a human. Humans need to eat, but seraphim don’t.”

Ed grins. “Good to see you’ve been paying attention.” He barrels past Mikleo’s huff. “Anyway, sure. We don’t _need_ to. But it’s not bad, this stuff.” He waggles the jerky around. “Now that we’ve managed to make things that Sorey seems to find _edible_ , I mean. Apparently, seasoning’s pretty important.”

Mikleo gives the seraph a skeptical look.

Ed gazes back—then, at the meat. “Why don’t you give it a try?”

“H-Huh?”

“You heard me. Besides, you're a pretty sickly-lookin' kid with that pale skin and dull hair. No offense. Maybe it'll help. Go on! It really is good, I promise.” He’s back to waving the jerky around. It must be his attempt at heightening its appeal. That might’ve worked with a younger Mikleo, but he’s been alive for _eight_ whole years. Such gimmicks don’t lure him in anymore.

Still, his curiosity will never abate. After another moment of hesitation, he swims to the shallow waters.

Ed looks at the tips of the waves. “Can I come in?”

Flatly: “No.”

“Jeez. You sure are bratty for someone who’s gettin' such a neat gift.”

“I’ve seen how many of those animals graze nearby. It’s not like it’s some precious commodity, so don’t act like it is.”

Ed’s brows lift with disbelief. “ _Commodity_? Kyme and Medea must have nothing better to do than drill vocabulary into that head of yours, huh?” Moving on, he tears off a piece of the meat and tosses it into the water. It baffles him how this doesn’t demean the young boy; it’s similar to watching Sorey use torn pieces of bread to draw in the birds.

Then again, if Mikleo were an invisible being it’d be something akin to an offering, wouldn’t it?

Mikleo’s thin fingers scoop up the chunk of dried meat. He draws it up to his face, smells it, and looks to Ed once more. Ed gives him an encouraging wave of his hand. With that, he finally opens his mouth and closes it around the jerky, teeth tearing past the toughness with ease. Contemplatively, he chews. Swallows.

It’s good.

Ed smiles knowingly, eager to have provided the young boy with a new experience. “So?” And when Mikleo doesn’t immediately respond, he chalks it up to his usual fussiness. “You can admit it. I won’t tell.”

What he doesn’t expect is for Mikleo to swim deeper into the lake and get _sick_.

“Wh—Mikleo? Jeez,” he breathes. “Guess it wasn’t your cup of tea after all.” He fidgets with concern, unable to physically console the boy. “I should get Gramps.”

“No!” says Mikleo. He turns around, face flushed and wet. “It’s fine. It’s _nothing_. I just… I don’t think I have the right stuff to… distress it.”

Ed looks at him in confusion. A moment ticks by. “Di… Oh— _digest_ it, you mean?” With the passing danger, he regains his good humor. “Ha! Not such a brainiac after all, eh, kiddo?”

“Sh-shut up!”

 

* * *

 

He is still eight years old when he sings to the moon, a pure and delicate sound. He reclines on the shore with his weight resting on the palms of his hands. He stretches his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles and dipping them slightly beneath the water.

His voice cuts off when he hears a rustle of grass followed by a _thump_.

Tensing, he throws himself back into the water. He lifts up just enough for his eyes to peek over the surface; immediately, they widen into saucers. About two dozen feet away from the shore is a boy the same size as Mikleo, pouting at the tangle of weeds he’d gotten caught in and rubbing at the dirt on his knee. After a moment, he looks back up toward the water with renewed determination, and Mikleo jumps.

“A-Ah,” the boy breathes, tripping over his words in excitement. And Mikleo’s not _stupid_ ; he’s _sure_ that this is the human. Sorey. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you. Or _keep_ scaring you, I guess… I know you’ve never seen me before, and that’s probably pretty weird. It’s weird for me too! Gramps told me to promise him that I’d never go down to the lake, but I couldn’t take it anymore. I can hear you sing from all the way up in my room, y’know? It’s really nice. Better than anyone else, but don’t tell them I said that!”

Mikleo stares and stares. _Finally_. He’s finally meeting the human, and it feels like something clicks firmly into place. Feeling strangely revitalized, and more than a little bold, he draws himself up to standard height. His long hair sops wetly over his shoulders, clinging to the intricate robes that Medea had fashioned for him, and makes to introduce himself.

“My name is—”

“Mikleo!”

He blinks.

Sorey beams. “ _Everyone_ talks about you. I’m—“

“Sorey. Everyone talks about _you_ , too,” Mikleo shoots back, slightly perturbed.

They match gazes for another moment. Sorey seems to be trying to read the boy in the water, humming. He places a hand on his chin. “So I bet we already know lots about each other, huh? That makes becoming friends a lot easier.”

Mikleo gapes. “Friends?”

“Yeah!” replies Sorey, easy and chipper. Then, without hesitation, he’s toeing off his boots and moving toward the shore. Mikleo flounders, reeling with each step from his new companion.

_Nobody_ enters the lake—not once since Mikleo came to be, anyway. Zenrus warned the townspeople so Mikleo didn’t have to. Apparently, Sorey missed the memo.

He’s barreling past the shallows and Mikleo is at a loss. Now that he’s older, his ability to manipulate the water isn't dependent on his own emotions. He has no desire to hurt _anybody_ , let alone a kind boy his age. Still, he’s a child, and this unfamiliarity is scaring him.

“S-Sorey! Wait!”

He stops. “Huh? What’s wrong?”

“I…” Suddenly, demanding that the lake is _his_ alone sounds too selfish and immature. He squashes the notion that he wants to impress Sorey. Reaching to brush a bit of wet hair out of his eyes, he murmurs, “Won’t you get in trouble?”

Sorey smiles yet again, although he looks a bit nervous. His hands pat lightly at the water surrounding his waist.  “Heheh… Well, maybe. That’s if I get caught!”

Mikleo frowns. “Of course you’re going to get caught. Gramps knows everything!”

“Nuh uh! He barely knows _anything_ about you!”

Well. That makes two of them, Mikleo thinks. “Still, I mean—it’s like he’s got eyes on the back of his head. And the sides, too. _Everywhere_.”

Sorey giggles. “Ew. Imagine a whole body covered in eyes.”

Mikleo makes a face at the thought. Belatedly, he realizes that Sorey has come closer. He’s only a few feet away, feet kicking to keep himself afloat. He expects himself to tense, and he’d almost _like_ to, because his lack of preservation instincts are failing at the worst possible time... but his body is refreshingly lax.

His lips purse in thought, watching Sorey watch him. Finally, he asks, “How do you know how to swim?”

Blinking, Sorey says, “By practicing?” He twists around and points back toward the direction in which he came. “There’s a big river on the other side of town.”

That’s news to Mikleo. “Really?”

“Yep! It’s where Lawrence takes me fishing.”

_Fishing_. Mikleo’s aware of the concept, but there are no such creatures in his lake. He wonders if the river water would feel any different than this—not that he’s very keen on finding out anytime soon.

He notices that Sorey’s teeth have begun to chatter. His skin is covered in little bumps, too, and Mikleo peers at them with endless fascination; after all, he’s never allowed anybody else to come this near. Zenrus is the closest exception, often standing at the shore while Mikleo sits in the shallows. But Gramps isn’t _human_. He doesn’t have _human_ reactions like this boy.

“It’s so cold!” whines Sorey. “I don’t know how you stand it. How come you’re not affected?”

“I’m used to it, obviously. Besides, it’s the middle of the night. What’d you expect?”

“I know, I know. It’s like I said, I couldn’t help it! Besides… everyone in Elysia has started going to bed at nighttime, you know? They don’t need to sleep, but Melody says it’s starting to become a habit. So I knew that this was my best shot at coming to see you.”

Mikleo fidgets. There’s something about Sorey that’s so inherently _honest_. He thinks, after tonight, he wouldn’t mind seeing Sorey again.

He even considers allowing him back into the water—with _permission_ next time.

“You should go.” When Sorey opens his mouth to complain, Mikleo adds, “You don’t want to get caught, right? If you do, you’ll get in trouble. Then it’ll be even harder to come back.”

“Gahhhh… Okay, okay.” Once he agrees, he slowly swims back to the shore. His moping lasts only until he steps onto the sand, turning toward Mikleo. He grins. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? G’night!”

With that, he sprints back up the pathway to Elysia.

Mikleo sinks down until his chin touches the water.

“Goodnight… Sorey.”


	2. Chapter 2

He doesn’t see Sorey the next day. Nor the day after that, nor any time _soon_.

It causes Mikleo to grow restless and unhappy. He can’t ask the other villagers because he doesn’t want to get Sorey in trouble (that is, if he somehow managed to avoid it), and nobody has let slip what their treasured human has been up to lately. It’s driving him _insane_.

With his pent up energy, he manipulates the waterfront and crashes wave upon wave against the shore. His only satisfaction derives from how much stronger his abilities seem to have become. He decides to practice more meticulous moves, such as coiling a thin stream of water through the wet sand to draw pictures. It keeps him occupied for a while.

Then, Zenrus shows up—with Sorey in tow.

His eyes boggle out of his head. He swims toward the duo. “Gramps!”

“Mikleo.” His voice is heavy and grave.

He swallows and looks to Sorey, who appears to be rather downtrodden. Still, he waves to Mikleo when their eyes meet. Mikleo hesitantly waves back.

Zenrus watches the exchange. Then, he gestures for Sorey to sit next to him in the sand. Once they’re settled, cross-legged and facing Mikleo, he begins to speak. “As the two of you know, Sorey has been forbidden from this lake and its surrounding land ever since he was brought to Elysia. Do you know why?”

Mikleo’s cheeks puff out just slightly. “No. Nobody would ever tell me.”

“Me neither,” says Sorey.

“Then, I suppose it’s about time we change that, hm?” When the boys nod, eager and curious, Zenrus heaves an affectionate sigh. “It’s no secret that Mikleo has always been an enigma to us—neither seraphim nor human, yet possessing qualities of both. Here in Elysia, we have limited reference material for any sort of research. Most of what we know about you thus far has been trial and error.” He directs this to Mikleo. “A long time ago, when I’d left Elysia and came back with Sorey, I also found a book. It holds information on many of the mythological creatures in our world. There is one that shares similarities with you, Mikleo.”

Mikleo leans forward, inhaling sharply. “What? Which one is it?”

“Siren.”

There’s no earth-shattering realization that accompanies the information. He simply digests the word and relishes his new identity.

“Still—one cannot simply rely on words from a book. Field testing guarantees accuracy. I’ve put much more stock into observing you as you’ve grown. You, and your… _effect_ on us. Which, blessedly, is minimal.”

Sorey and Mikleo both exchange looks of confusion.

“It is unsure if we can say the same for Sorey.” Zenrus lifts a hand and drops it on top of the brunet’s head, ruffling his windblown hair. The boys can only interpret this as a precursor to another order that forbids them from seeing each other. “But,” he adds after a solid moment of silence, “it would seem you two have become fast friends. I’d be a fool to stand between you.”

He still feels as though Zenrus is neglecting to say something (many things, even), and his explanations are rather vague, but Mikleo isn’t as perceptive as he’d like to be; still young and excitable, he and Sorey wear matching smiles filled with euphoria.

Sorey speaks first. “Does that mean—?!”

“Yes, yes,” says Zenrus, lips twitching. “You can see Mikleo whenever you’d like—as long as your chores aren’t neglected.”

The human child launches himself at Zenrus, arms linked around his shoulders. “I’ll make sure of it! Thank you, Gramps!”

Mikleo feels bashful in light of Sorey’s genuine enthusiasm; he’d hide himself in the water, but he doesn’t feel like distancing himself from the company of Zenrus and Sorey. He observes the way they’re physically affectionate with one another. Mikleo has often watched Natalie and Mason hold hands. Ed’s always jabbing his elbow into another seraph, jovial and playful.

The one and only time Mikleo’s been touched had been his first day of existence. He remembers nothing. He’s curious, but certainly not enough to act on it.

 

* * *

 

The very next time Sorey bounds toward the lake, Mikleo stands up in the shallow water and outstretches a hand, palm facing the brunet, fingers splayed.

Sorey stops.

“This lake is very precious. You can’t just go running in whenever you want!”

Tilting his head, Sorey squints at his friend. Then, he thumps his fist over his palm, face brightening with recognition. “Oh! I remember… Gramps said that this is like your home. And people don’t barge into other people’s homes without permission, right?”

Mikleo nods, surprised. “It’s… exactly like that.”

“Okay.” Sorey drops his hands back to his sides and ducks his head into a bow. “Please excuse me!”

This is the first time somebody has tried to _formally_ ask for Mikleo’s consent, and it’s a little weird. Sorey is almost unbearably earnest. “Um… you don’t have to _say_ anything.”

“So—just this?” He bows again.

Mikleo lifts a hand up to his chin, assessing. “Yes.” When he straightens back up, Mikleo inclines his head as well. “And I’ll return it. That’s how you’ll know.”

Sorey’s eyes gleam as he takes in the information and commits it to memory. Mikleo’s relieved he’s not treating this as a joke. However, he does start to smile as he makes his way into the water. “Heh. It’s almost like you’re a foreign prince.”

“Wh—Where do you get that from?”

He doesn’t receive a reply. A few seraphim make their way down the hill and toward the lake before sitting down in the grass. Seeing Mikleo share the lake is quite the spectacle, after all, and there’s nothing quite like the simple peace of watching two children at play.

 

* * *

 

When Sorey and Mikleo are ten years old, the former shows up one day with a pair of scissors in hand.

Mikleo immediately regards him with suspicion. He knows the many functions of scissors, but he’s unsure what Sorey could have in mind. As if acknowledging this, the brunet wears his best and brightest smile.

“I was thinking,” he begins, peeling off his shirt. He’d long since abandoned his shoes, fully aware they’d be useless during his time with Mikleo. “Your hair… I mean, it’s always been so long. And sometimes I see how badly it gets in your face when you swim.”

“Does not!”

“Does _too_.” He steps toward the tip of the waves and bows his head at Mikleo. Once it’s reciprocated, albeit warily, he waddles his way into the water. “Anyway, I was wondering if you’d like a haircut!”

Mikleo watches Sorey swim closer. As he does, he reaches for the hair draped over the front of his shoulder and grips it protectively. He can’t outright deny the boy, so: “How short?”

Sorey hums, stopping a few feet away from his friend and peering contemplatively at his long, translucent locks. “How about… close to mine? It’ll be a nice change!”

His hair is rather wild, and Mikleo’s not sure how he feels about ending up with something similar, but—it’s not permanent, after all, and hair grows. At this point, his only hesitation…

“And… y’know… I’ll have to touch you. Is that okay?” Sorey looks at him with wide, inquisitive eyes.

They’ll just have to find that out. Mikleo likes to think that he can handle something that seems to be treated so naturally by everybody else. He nods. “Okay. Just—be careful. And let’s go back toward the shore so you’re not moving around so much.”

To the shore they go, with Sorey plopping down into the wet sand just at the water’s edge. He spreads his legs out and pats the ground between them. “C’mon, go ahead and sit down like me. I’ll start at the back.”

Mikleo pauses for a moment, but he does as he’s told. When Sorey carefully scoops up the hair that falls along Mikleo’s back in one hand, he tenses. Then, with his other, Sorey combs his fingers through it.

“Whoa. I was expecting it to be all tough and tangly. It’s really soft, though…” It sounds like he’s still smiling, and despite his claims of ease, he’s careful as he brushes the length a few wondering times.

Gradually, Mikleo relaxes. He’s so calm, in fact, that when he feels a hint of cool metal against the back of his neck, he merely steels his breathing to make sure he’s steady enough for Sorey. There’s a distinct _snip_ followed by a significant loss of weight from his head. Another, and another…

Mikleo closes his eyes. After a few moments of tending to the back, Sorey pulls away. “Alright! Turn around, and I’ll do the front.”

“How does it look so far?”

“Good, I think! It’s a lot different, so it’s probably gonna take some getting used to.” When Mikleo’s shifted enough that he’s kneeling in front of Sorey, he grins happily at his friend. Mikleo ducks his head a bit, feeling shy from the proximity, and Sorey lifts a hand up to his face.

He can’t help but flinch, but it’s only an unintentional reaction to unfamiliarity. Sorey brushes his bangs aside.

“What—? Wow! It’s pretty!”

Oh. Mikleo absently touches the circlet resting over his forehead. Most of the time, he forgets that it even exists; it’s been there for years.

Sorey frowns a bit in confusion. “Where’d you get it?”

“H-Huh?”

“Did someone give it to you as a gift? I’ve never seen a jewel like that before...”

He’s awfully observational when he wants to be. Mikleo huffs and casts his gaze to the side. “It’s a secret.”

“A secret?!” Sorey echoes, disbelieving. His brows pull together and his voice drops to a whine. “We don’t keep secrets from each other!”

“Maybe I’ll tell you someday.”

“I’ll hold you to that!”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Apparently, he trusts Mikleo enough to keep his word, because he returns his attention back to today’s activity. He slides his palm beneath the bangs and chops them shorter. Mikleo closes his eyes to avoid getting stabbed with loose strands of hair.

One he appears to be satisfied, he pulls away from Mikleo. “Ta-da!”

Immediately, Mikleo draws a hand up to his head to gauge the difference. Of course, it’s completely unlike the mass of hair he’d had prior. It feels like what he imagines a lost limb to feel like, although that’s probably an exaggeration. He knows he’ll simply just have to get used to it, just as Sorey had said.

And he’s confident that will happen—until he looks at his reflection in the water.

He gasps, clutching at his hair more urgently. It’s… well—it’s _horrible_. Perhaps if there was some semblance of order or neatness… if it was, at the very least, _even_ , Mikleo could proceed without complaint. Unfortunately, Sorey’s handiwork is truly a disaster.

Seething, he explodes. “Sorey! It looks terrible!”

Sorey, ever the optimist, only looks a bit sheepish. “Well… hair grows back, remember? So yours'll be normal before you know it.”

Logically, Mikleo knows that’s the case. It’s really not a big deal, this incident (and that’s _exactly_ what it is, an _incident_ , because it officially marks the point of time in which Mikleo no longer trusts Sorey with a pair of scissors). He drops his hands, still feeling a little miserable, and looks back toward his friend.

Then, his eyes lock onto the scissors.

“Your turn.”

Sorey blinks. “Huh?”

Mikleo leans forward and, in a rare turn of events, Sorey involuntarily leans _back_. Perhaps he’d never seen the siren’s eyes gleam so mischievously. “ _Your_ hair looks like it could use a trim. Let me do it.”

“So you can get me back for messing up yours? No way!”

”It’s only fair!”

At this, Sorey wavers. He reluctantly passes the scissors to Mikleo. Their fingers brush; it’s another unfamiliar sensation. However, he’s more intently focused on the task at hand. He has Sorey face the opposite direction of the lake so that his back is to Mikleo.

Now that he’s presented with the boy’s messy brown hair, which has indeed begun to grow a little long at his nape, Mikleo decides to be merciful. He carefully cuts the offending locks as evenly as possible, working delicately. He likes to believe he has more patience than Sorey, after all, so it’d only make sense that his hair cutting skills are superior.

It’s calming, he realizes. Sorey, too, must have sensed that Mikleo’s not out to get him, because he hums a baseless tune and digs his fingers absently into the sand at his sides.

Mikleo decides to be bold—to initiate another _first_. He inches his way _out_ of the water, walking on his knees, and settles in front of Sorey to work on his bangs.

Sorey’s eyes, which had closed during his haircut, fly open. He gapes. “Hey!”

He looks so _pleasantly surprised_. Mikleo can’t contain a soft upturn of his lips. “Hi. Close your eyes again so I don’t poke one out, dummy.”

Once he obeys, Mikleo finishes trimming up the front of his hair. He’s relieved that he has something to focus on. Without the safety blanket of cold water surrounding his skin, he feels beyond vulnerable. It helps that he’s with Sorey.

“All done.” He pulls away, sitting back on his heels. When Sorey opens his eyes again, he still looks just as excited as when Mikleo left the water. When it seems like the brunet has no interest in removing his gaze from Mikleo, he clicks his tongue and gestures toward the lake. “Go on! Take a look.”

He does, shifting his body to the side and leaning over until he can see the entirety of his head in the surface. “Oh! Not bad.”

Mikleo puffs up. “Not bad?! You mean it’s not a complete _mess_ like mine!”

“Aw, Mikleo… It was a learning experience for the both of us!”

“That’s _one_ way to put it. I’d call it a permanent warning.”

Even though Mikleo is clearly giving Sorey an ample amount of grief, the boy happens to be unbothered, simply playing with the strands of his freshly cut hair and wearing an oddly gentle expression.

The next morning, when Medea and Kyme arrive for Mikleo’s lessons, they’re curled into themselves and choking back laughter, obviously trying their very best to avoid offending the siren. As they are some of the older seraphim in Elysia, Mikleo finds this behavior to be ridiculous.

“I think it’s darling,” says Medea with her beaming, kind face.

Kyme nods sagely in agreement. “Very modern.”

Mikleo sinks into the water and boils with embarrassment. He refuses to resurface until Natalie stops by with an offer to fix his hair. He declines, but takes her scissors to do a bit of maintenance for himself while she gives him verbal direction. In the end, they manage to give him a much more presentable haircut, with swaying bangs and even sides.

Sorey shows up later in the afternoon and notices the change. “It looks nice,” he says, honest and chipper. “You can see your head-jewel-thing when your hair moves a certain way, too.”

The comment is filled with unspoken questions; Sorey is clearly still interested in its origin.

In fact, he doesn’t stop asking about it for several days. How come it doesn’t rust? Are there imprints in Mikleo’s skin, left behind from the soft press of the circlet? What kind of stone is the jewel? Does it ever slip off in the water?

Sorey is a naturally inquisitive boy. He’s always on the lookout for knowledge, and even at a young age, his perception is quite refined. Mikleo can relate, so he doesn’t fault him when he keeps digging for answers.

Still, it’s _tiresome_.

And Mikleo is a little weak when it comes to Sorey.

 

* * *

 

It’s Sorey’s eleventh birthday when Mikleo caves.

For their ninth and tenth, the boys didn’t bother with exchanging gifts, instead preferring to spend the entire day with one another. The company was more than satisfactory. Mikleo assumed that they would continue this pattern for each year to come. Then, Sorey tipped the scales when Mikleo turned eleven this past year.

The present was small but thoughtful: clips for Mikleo’s hair. It’s grown longer, of course, and while it’s nowhere near the length it used to be, it’s at an awkward stage—too short to pull back, too long for optimal sight.

Hence, the clips.

Mikleo is sure that they once belonged to someone else in the village. This makes no difference to him. A gift is a gift, and Mikleo now wears them to pin back his troublesome bangs.

So, when it’s Sorey’s turn, Mikleo is particularly enthused. He knows Sorey will respond in kind. As soon as he arrives at the lake, Mikleo drags him by his wrist to the deeper end of the water.

Then, he says: “Wait here.”

“Where else am I supposed to go?” is Sorey’s muffled response; Mikleo has already gone beneath the surface. He glances back to see his friend treading patiently (although he knows him well enough to discern the obvious excitement for whatever Mikleo has in store) and descends to the bottom. He takes a stone in hand, a thick slab of aged material covered in engravings, and brings it back to Sorey.

He pops out of the water, and Sorey turns to meet him with a smile. After a brief moment of pause, he presses the stone into his friend’s hand.

Sorey stares down at it, awed. Mikleo watches his eyes roam the surface as he turns it over in his hold.

“Did you… find this in the lake?” he asks, breathless, mentally reconstructing the evidence he’s been given. Mikleo still hasn’t ventured any farther than the sand or its surrounding grass (just to learn what it feels like), so he can’t possibly have gotten it from anywhere else.

This is what he knows will truly blow Sorey away: “It belongs to an underwater ruin. That piece eroded away a few months ago; it’s from a big mural, actually.”

Predictably, Sorey’s mouth falls open into a gape. He clutches the stone. “An underwater—Mikleo! You have to show me!”

Mikleo is prepared for this. “It’s too deep—at least fifty feet or so. Obviously you can’t breathe the way I can.”

Sorey looks _heartbroken_. “I… Yeah… You’re right. Still, that’s amazing. I wish I could see it! I can’t believe you’ve been living with a whole set of ruins this whole time.” Then, something clicks into place. “Wait. Your circlet…”

He reaches to brush his fingers over it. “I found it down there. It’s not the only treasure; I dunno what used to be the ruin’s purpose, but it almost resembles some sort of shrine. This could’ve been an offering.”

“Well, whoever it was intended for doesn’t seem to mind that you’re wearing it.” He pauses, still fidgeting with this new revelation. “Can’t you… hmm… What if you manipulated the water?”

Mikleo meets his eyes, dropping his hand away from the circlet. “Huh?”

“That’s your thing, obviously. And you’re good at it. So why can’t you make it so that there’s water everywhere except for my mouth? Instead, there’d be air for me to breathe!”

Sorey’s getting ahead of himself, which is par for the course. Mikleo shakes his head. “I don’t know how to do that. And even if I learned, there’s a chance it’d fail while we’re deep within the ruins, and—” He repeats the motion. Sorey absolutely cannot drown. “It’s too big of a risk.”

“I think you’re doubting your own abilities. We could practice in the shallows—”

But the idea of Sorey succumbing to the depths of the darkest water is a picture that Mikleo suddenly can’t get out of his head. It’s vivid enough to obscure his vision like a forced premonition. “ _No_ , Sorey! It’s not going to happen!”

Unfortunately, Sorey can be just as stubborn as Mikleo. “If it’s just by the shore, it can’t hurt. You’d never let anything bad happen to me anyway, right?”

“That’s the whole point! I _won’t_ , so I’m _not_. Drop it.”

Finally, he does. But the air is thick, so he only stays for a moment more to thank Mikleo for the present. Then, he leaves.

Mikleo feels guilty for dampening the tone of Sorey’s birthday, but he doesn’t regret his decision. The image of his best friend suffocating in Mikleo’s domain haunts him for hours late into the night.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each and every bit of feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you!  
> Happy Valentine's Day!

The next morning he’s feeling haggard, but the tension between Sorey and Mikleo has evaporated. As children, all is forgiven after a small break to cool off.

But, as opposed to Sorey’s insistence surrounding Mikleo’s circlet, he’s uncharacteristically tight-lipped about his proposal from yesterday. He must have picked up on Mikleo’s anxiety; Sorey is unfairly adept at reading him.

It’s nice that he doesn’t have to think about it. The only problem is that he _does_.

When the moon shimmers against the lake and Mikleo’s soft voice fills the air; when Moymor drones on about ancient history, a topic he’d usually be interested in; when he and Sorey take turns reading entries from the Celestial Record; when the sun rises, signifying another day past.

So, against his better judgment, he begins to practice.

He doesn’t tell Sorey. There’s really no need. His training begins independently as an exploration of his own abilities. He has a lot of free time, and although much of it is spent with Sorey, there’s plenty of opportunity to test himself away from prying eyes. Experimenting alone is difficult; he doesn’t have a mentor or even a fraction of some like-minded arte to build off of.

Still, he begins with Sorey’s simplistic hypothesis: creating a pocket of air around his mouth and nose. He’s never made anything of the sort, but manipulating water has always come as easy as breathing. After all, it’s how he’s able to move around in the water so fluidly, preventing him from tiring out. He just has to concentrate that energy to one centralized location.

Easier said than done.

He struggles with creating something large enough. The most he can manage are small bubbles, which would be useless to anyone. He feels frustrated, as if he can sense the untapped potential brimming deep within, yet cannot warp it in the specific way he’d like.

Sometime after his thirteenth birthday, he asks Kyme for help. He’s a water seraph, after all, and much of his time is spent training.

“You realize that our abilities are a bit different, Mikleo, There’s no telling how helpful I’ll really be.”

“It’s not like I can regress,” argues Mikleo. He sits in the shallow water of the lake while Kyme gives him a searching look from the sand. “Anything’s better than nothing. I’ve plateaued.”

“True enough.” He leans forward, hands pressed to his folded knees. His gaze fills with curiosity, then, and Mikleo knows what he’s going to ask. “What’s this about, anyway?”

Mikleo debates the merits of honesty. Zenrus raised him well, of course, so he replies, “I want to do something for Sorey, but I refuse to give it a try unless I’m sure I can actually pull it off. It requires him to breathe underwater.”

Kyme smiles knowingly. “I see. You’re up against no easy task.”

That’s disheartening to hear. “Do you know how to do it?”

The seraph hums in thought. “Yes. But I myself don’t require manual means of breathing underwater, so I’m a bit out of practice. The bad news is that it’s much more difficult to work with water already provided, rather than conjure your own.”

“I’ve never done any conjuring.” Not _yet_ , anyway. He’s never had a need. Still, the idea of continually building upon his abilities is appealing. “Why isn’t it the other way around? You’d think that pulling water from nowhere would be more of a strain.”

“But that water _belongs_ to you. You can control your own breath—but a gust of wind will push you around as it pleases.”

“Unless you’re a wind seraph.”

Kyme smiles wryly. “Indeed.”

“What’s the good news?”

“You and that lake have been companions since birth. The familiarity will help.” He stands up, brushing the sand off of his pants. “Now, then: let’s begin.”

Mikleo had known that Kyme was never going to go easy on him, as vigor is simply his nature, but he’s absolutely exhausted that first night. Worse yet that he hadn’t made any progress. “Snacks are not built in a day, you know,” Kyme had said before his departure, as if a few years of crafting sweets for Sorey suddenly made him an expert.

His lessons with Kyme fit neatly into his daily routine, in between textual learnings and time spent with Sorey. It’s a wonder Sorey hasn’t caught them. Although Mikleo doesn’t intend to keep it _hidden_ , precisely, he’d like for it to be a surprise.

The hypothetical delight that would illuminate Sorey’s features provides Mikleo with enough motivation to keep him going for the next couple of years.

 

* * *

 

When Mikleo is 16 and Sorey is 15, he decides that it’s finally time.

His friend shows up in the late afternoon, which is when Mikleo seizes the opportunity. It’ll take a lot of Sorey’s energy to swim underwater for so long. Once he’s had his fill, he’ll be able to head back home and get a good night’s rest. He frets over Sorey’s well-being because oftentimes the boy himself does _not_.

Sorey has his head inclined into a bow when Mikleo blurts: “Do you want to see the underwater ruins?”

As if that’s even a valid _question_.

His friend blinks at him, nearly uncomprehending. Perhaps he’d given up hope on the mere possibility. “Does that mean… you figured out a way for me to breathe?”

Forgetting himself, Sorey begins to trek into the water without receiving a reciprocated bow from Mikleo. This doesn’t bother him; they’re well past formality, and the lake is Sorey’s as much as it is Mikleo’s by now, but the habit is hard to break.

“Yes.”

Sorey beams. “Wow. You sound confident. You must be pretty sure it’s gonna work, huh?”

Mikleo crosses his arms. “I am. And it _will_. Do you want to, or not?”

“Of course! Do I have to do anything special, or…?”

Wordlessly, Mikleo guides him further out into the lake. He sways a hand; in its path, a paper-thin stream of water trails in its wake and through the air. Fingers outstretched, they settle lightly around Sorey’s nose and mouth; again, the water follows. It seals where his fingertips lie.

When he drops his hand, the bubble stays in place. The corners of Mikleo’s lips twitch up into a satisfied smile.

Sorey takes in a few breaths of air. He laughs, feeling giddy. “This is amazing! Is the air supply limited?”

Mikleo shakes his head. “No. I can circulate the bubble by calling down more pockets of air from the surface, once we’re underneath.”

His friend appears to be awed. “You’re incredible.”

In the face of such blatant praise, Mikleo turns his head to the side. He feels warm. “A-Anyway, go ahead and test it out. Dive in, and I’ll take you there.”

“You got it!”

Sorey disappears underneath the surface, and Mikleo follows suit. He’s elated to see Sorey’s mouth opening and closing without water rushing in. He sends a thumbs up to Mikleo, who shakes his head, long locks of silver hair coiling slowly with the movement.

“You can speak, you know. I’ll be able to hear you just fine.”

For a moment, Sorey looks awestruck. Mikleo’s not sure why, until he elaborates. “You… I mean, your voice. It sounds different.”

Mikleo frowns. “Different? What do you mean?”

“Like…” He struggles to think of a suitable response. “It’s like the whole lake is speaking. All-encompassing. And there’s an echoing quality to it… It’s beautiful.”

Again, Mikleo feels himself fight back a massive fit of embarrassment. Many aspects of the siren have been referred to as beautiful, all throughout his life, by each inhabitant of Elysia. He accepts the compliments with grace. It shouldn’t make any difference when it’s Sorey, his emerald eyes twinkling.

“You sound the same as always,” Mikleo says, falling back on banter. “A little too loud.”

“Hey!”

“Just like that.” He smirks. “Come on. It’s a bit of a swim. If the water begins to feel too thick on your limbs and it becomes a chore to move, take my hand.”

“Got it.”

Mikleo begins their descent, watching Sorey haul himself into a dive with greater effort so he can push himself deeper. Mikleo, of course, is endlessly familiar with the lake. But Sorey…

“This is surreal. It’s like I’ve only ever been in the foyer, you know? And now I get to tour the rest of your home.” Even though there isn’t much to see just yet, his head still swivels from side-to-side, eager to take in as much as he can.

“It’s nothing, yet. A few minutes more and we’ll see the top of the ruins.”

Sorey releases a noise of excitement, reaching for Mikleo’s hand. He can’t possibly be tired yet; perhaps he’s hoping Mikleo will pull him around so he doesn’t have to do as much work.

Still, Mikleo’s only response is to intertwine their fingers.

As promised, moments later they’re looking at a wide expanse of stone several meters from the bottom of the lake. It’s supported by several intricately carved beams and composed of massive tunnels that weave along the perimeter. The stone is tinted blue, speckled like granite, and sparkles wherever the beams of the falling sun rest.

When they duck underneath the first beam, Sorey sets his free hand on the surface. It’s easier to support himself in the water like this, using the ruin itself as a way to move around.

“I wonder how old these are. I can’t really see any indications. Were they always underwater? Or did the lake come after they were built?”

He’s mumbling to himself, Mikleo knows, but he chimes in nonetheless. “I couldn’t tell you. They’ve been here ever since I’ve lived, anyway.”

Sorey looks back to Mikleo, eying his forehead. “And you found your circlet here, right? Didn’t you say there’s other stuff lying around?”

“That’s right. I’ll show you.”

He pulls Sorey past several stone slabs, navigating the halls until they’ve reached a massive cavern shaped like a room. On the central wall is a mural, its engravings faded and worn. Below it, on the floor, are piles upon piles of trinkets.

Sorey’s attention falls to the wall first. “Huh.”

Mikleo’s violet gaze follows. “I’ve stared at it for so long it’s begun to lose shape. If only it were more distinctive…”

“It looks like you.”

“Huh?!”

The brunet uses a nearby beam to propel himself toward the mural. His hand sweeps over a figure, dead center. “This here. It resembles a person, don’t you think? And it’s pretty common for a mural’s structure to be centered on somebody. Think of all the ones we’ve seen in the Celestial Record. Plus, there’s a lot of blank space around them—but maybe I’m only thinking about water because we’re surrounded by it. Makes sense, given the fact that these ruins are, too.” Then, he points to the outer edge, moving his finger along the outer perimeter. There are numerous incoherent shapes facing the central figure. “Those, though… Not a clue.”

Perhaps all it took was a fresh set of eyes to pick apart its meaning. Mikleo can envision something along the lines of what Sorey is seeing, although he hardly believes it has anything to do with Mikleo himself.

“We can interpret it all we’d like, but without any real context on the matter, it can only ever be speculation.”

“Yeah…” Sorey agrees, before turning his gaze down to the numerous items scattered below. He gives a tug on Mikleo’s hand, and the siren picks up on his cue, dragging them to the floor so Sorey doesn’t keep floating back up.

“I used to think these were rare treasures,” says Mikleo. “But as I got older, I realized they’re fairly ordinary.”

Sorey sifts through one of the piles; a small empty bottle, a paintbrush, a sewing kit, a pocket knife, a plain golden ring…

“They almost seem like… someone’s belongings. Or several someone’s.”

Mikleo hums. “Indeed. Again, they’ve been here ever since I could reach this ruin—so I couldn’t say where they came from.”

“If anyone knew anything, I bet it’d be Gramps. He’s been alive the longest.”

“Perhaps.”

“Have you ever asked?”

He presses his lips together. “A few times. He’s never been very helpful, though. I think he’s as baffled by all of this as we are.”

“That’s crazy. Who knew there’d be so many mysteries in Elysia?”

Mikleo smiles, amused. “You sound happy about that.”

Sheepishly, Sorey shrugs. “I won’t deny it.”

He watches his friend’s gaze flit around the room, still eager to soak up this discovery. Mikleo squeezes his hand and tugs on him. “Come on. Let’s swim through a few times before the sun sets. No sense staying down here while you can’t see anything.”

Sorey sends him a boyish grin. “Okay!”

 

* * *

 

As soon as they breach the surface, Mikleo releases his hold on the bubble over Sorey’s mouth and collapses against his chest.

“Mikleo?!”

“I’m fine,” he says, quick to reassure. Lightly, he pants, and turns his face into Sorey’s neck. The brunet circles one arm around his thin waist for support. “I’m just… exhausted. Having to keep up that kind of magical energy while pulling you around turned out to be quite the feat.”

“ _Mikleo_ …” he repeats slowly, chastising. “You should have said you were feeling tired! We could’ve come up sooner.”

He clicks his tongue. “As if you wouldn’t have done the same thing. It’s too late, now—and I already said I’m alright.”

A sigh. “If you say so.” He lifts his hand from Mikleo’s waist to the back of his head and combs his fingers through the silky wet hair. “Tell me next time, okay?”

Mikleo lifts his head from Sorey’s shoulder so he can meet his eyes, a lilting smile on his lips. “Who said there’s going to be a next time?”

Sorey’s mouth falls open. “You…!” He ducks into his friend, grasping his sides with both hands and relentlessly tickling him. Mikleo wheezes, doing his very best to dish out an attack of his own; he _should_ have the upper hand, considering that this is his turf, but he’s just so _tired_.

He thumps his hand against Sorey’s chest. “I give!”

Fortunately, he relents, although he still wears a victorious grin. His eyes meet Mikleo’s, and his face softens. Before he even opens his mouth, Mikleo knows what he’s going to say—so he speaks before Sorey can.

“Don’t thank me.”

“But why not? It’s been a long time since you told me you’d never take me down there. Years. You must’ve practiced really hard to become so sure of my safety.”

Of course he knows. He always does. Mikleo extracts himself from Sorey and leads him back toward the shore. Tonight, even _he_ would like to recline in the grass for a well-earned break.

When Mikleo doesn’t reply, Sorey takes it as a win, so he switches topics and watches Mikleo remove himself from the lake completely with a contemplative look on his face. “Hey… We know by now that you don’t need to stay in water to survive, right?”

“What are you getting at?”

“I’m just…” He turns his gaze toward the rising moon. “You showed me something really special today. I want to do the same for you. Mount Mabinogio ruins aren’t very far, and I know them about as well as the back of my hand.”

Mikleo scoffs.

Sorey looks back at him, eyes blazing with life. “I mean it! I know you’re easily overwhelmed by change, but I promise I wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. I’ll make sure it’s just the two of us, too.”

“Sorey…”

“Do you really plan to stay here for the rest of your life? You want to explore the secrets of the world just as much as I do. Doing that through a book is nowhere near the same thing.”

“Sorey!” he repeats, blinking past his surprise. “Where is this coming from?”

He’s met with a spell of silence. Then, “Earlier, Gramps… told me that he expects me to leave Elysia someday. And… deep down, I guess I knew it too. I will. But that also means you’d get left behind.” He gives his companion a look that Mikleo can’t quite decipher. “I’d just really like it if you came with me. That’s all.”

Mikleo allows his words to sink in. Sorey, leaving… Yes, he’d always known it, too. As a child, he never thought of it. In the second half of his teenaged years, it’s become a feeling of muted resignation.

It never really occurred to him that Sorey wished for Mikleo to join him.

Mikleo’s silence spurs Sorey into speaking again. “You can take some time to think about it, if you want. Or—don’t.” He shrugs, smiling. He’s trying to downplay the situation and his own feelings.

“I’ll go.”

Sorey stares at him. “Seriously?”

“Yes.” He’s firm in his answer. The idea is absolutely terrifying, but Sorey’s already made a few convincing arguments. Mikleo _doesn’t_ want to spend the rest of his life confined to the lake in which he was born.

Clearly, the human had been expecting more resistance. He’s at a loss for words, looking at Mikleo like _he_ gave him the world instead of the other way around.

“But,” Mikleo adds, “there will be _no more_ ruin scavenging tonight.”

Sorey’s smile reappears. “I figured as much. When… do you think you’ll want to go?”

Mikleo draws a few lines in the sand, avoiding Sorey’s radiant gaze. “Why don’t we keep building off of this momentum? Tomorrow should give us enough time to rest.”

Again, Sorey puffs out a noise of euphoria. “Okay! Sounds like a plan to me.”

“And, perhaps…” He stops drawing. “I could stay the night at your place.”

“You’d want to? Really?”

“Why not? You said it yourself: you saw the rest of my home earlier today. It’d only make sense for me to see yours.”

Sorey bumps their shoulders together. “Don’t say it so _obviously_. You’ve never suggested anything like this before!”

Mikleo ignores him, rising to his feet. “Well? Shall we?”

Following suit, the brunet gives him a nod of affirmation. “Of course.”

“Lead the way.”


	4. Chapter 4

Nightfall in Elysia, during recent years, has proven to be much like a human town. The seraphim began to sleep the same time as Sorey ages ago, falling into the rejuvenating habit with ease. Still, when Sorey and Mikleo approach the arc above the town’s entrance, they’re able to see a few seraphim out and about.

Mikleo makes a face.

“C’mon. They’ll be happy to see you, y’know,” says Sorey, taking a few steps forward.

“They’ll never let me hear the end of it, you mean,” he grumbles. “Let’s just get to your house as soon as possible, okay?” He simply can’t help but feel an all-encompassing anxiety, being this far from the lake. It feels like a fist is pulling at the inside of his chest, disrupting his breath and focus. He’d love to appreciate these unseen sights, but it’s complicated when accompanied by such vulnerability.

Sorey does as he’s told, leading the way to the small house he claims as his own. Ed catches sight of the duo; immediately, he lets out a long whistle.

Mikleo closes his eyes.

Lawrence is with him. Usually cool-headed, he seems shocked beyond words.

Finally, Myrna dons a sweet smile, eyes crinkling with fondness. “Well, now. It’s not really that much of a surprise, is it? It was only a matter of time.” She seems proud. It’s embarrassing, but this is the reaction that Mikleo likes best.

Sorey gives them a wave of his hand, a simple acknowledgment, and ascends the small set of steps that leads to his door. He pushes it open, allowing Mikleo to step inside, and punctuates his arrival with a giddy “Ta-da!”

Mikleo spends several moments taking it all in: the stacks of books that line the wall (many of which he recognizes from when Sorey has brought them to the lake), a fireplace, chimney, and a smaller alcove that leads to the human’s bed. Many of these surroundings are familiar to Mikleo from the core knowledge provided to him throughout the years; however, it’s much different seeing it all in context. He finds himself wandering on autopilot, circling the room slowly and running the tips of his fingers along whatever he can find.

Sorey watches fondly from a slight distance, allowing Mikleo to take as much time as he pleases. In the meantime, he moves to a stack of drawers and sifts through a mess of clothes. He pulls out one of his shirts.

“Here. You can sleep in this for tonight if you want. I’ll hang your robes out to dry for tomorrow. It’ll be a lot harder for you to stay warm outside of the water, I think. Your skin’s always so cold!”

Mikleo takes the shirt in hand, nodding with agreement. The lake itself can drop to very low temperatures at night, which oftentimes is when he’ll sit along the shore with Sorey instead of allowing him into the water. Living inside of it has granted Mikleo with immunity, he assumes, but the wind has no trouble bestowing him with goosebumps and a desire to curl up for warmth.

Once he strips out of his soaked clothing, he slides on Sorey’s shirt. It’s long on him, of course, and he stifles his minor irritation at the fact. It feels like Sorey’s _never_ going to stop growing, while Mikleo will be stuck at his stunted height for years to come. Still, the cotton is soft and it smells like Sorey, so he can’t bring himself to complain.

Sorey briefly disappears to hang Mikleo’s apparel on a clothesline, smiling sheepishly at the trio of seraphim that are still gathered by Elysia’s pond, watching the young teen with curiosity evident in their eyes.

When he returns, he finds that Mikleo has made his way to Sorey’s bed, reclined flat on the cushy surface. Awe is written all over his face. Sorey laughs.

“How’s it feel?”

“Nice,” Mikleo admits. He slides his hand along the covers. “It feels like your bed is moving.”

“Oh!” Sorey crawls beside him. “I get that feeling whenever I spend a long day at the lake. I’m pretty sure it has something to do with our bodies growing used to movement from the water’s waves, and our brain tricks us into thinking we’re still there.” He shrugs. “Or something like that.”

Mikleo looks up at him. “Hmm.”

“Are you tired?”

“Exhausted.”

Sorey pulls at the bedspread, urging Mikleo to lift his body so that they can slide underneath. Once they’re situated, Mikleo resumes his exploration of the bed’s textures, fiddling with the corner of a pillowcase. His lids are heavy.

“Goodnight, Mikleo.”

“Goodnight.”

And that should be it, Mikleo believes, but after settling down and lying still, his body’s tiredness winning the battle between his fears of the unfamiliarity—Sorey doesn’t stop _fidgeting_.

“Sorey.”

“Huh?”

“Settle down.”

The brunet lifts up his arms as if trying to touch the ceiling. “I can’t!” he bursts. “This was probably the most exciting day of my life. I got to explore underwater _ruins_ and breathe at the same time! And then you agreed to do _this_. You’re here with me, and you will be tomorrow, too!” His voice drops to a whine. “I don’t think I could sleep if I tried. Sorry.”

Mikleo sighs, lifting himself up into a sitting position. When Sorey tries to do the same, he pushes him back down by the shoulder. “Stay as you are.” Sorey gives him a questioning look; then, comprehension dawns as Mikleo parts his lips to sing.

His voice is soft and soothing, absent of harsh syllables or conflicting sounds. The hand on Sorey’s shoulder drifts to his forehead instead, brushing away the brown locks from his face.

It’s like magic, the way Sorey’s eyelids soon begin to droop. When they close entirely, lashes fanning gently along a tanned cheek, Mikleo drops his song into a low hum.

Once his breathing has slowed and his muscles have gone lax, Mikleo smiles, dropping down to press his lips gently to Sorey’s forehead.

 

* * *

 

The siren wakes to find himself alone in the bed, but he can hear quiet footsteps from the central room. He catches sight of Sorey shoveling breakfast into his mouth as he paces around, likely preparing for their departure. Draped against a chair lay his dried robes.

Mikleo slides his legs over the side of the bed, carefully lowering himself to the floor. The feeling of solid wood beneath him is still strange. A floorboard creeks and suddenly Sorey is peeking around the room’s archway, grinning.

“’Morning! How’d you sleep?”

“Like a rock.” A fact that surprises him. He feels just as energized as Sorey looks.

The answer pleases Sorey. After a moment, he starts to laugh, setting his bowl of food on the table. “You’ve got a pretty bad case of bedhead.”

Mikleo frowns, drawing his hands up to the mass of silver hair. Indeed, it feels tangled and twisted. It’s not often his hair has a chance to dry completely, nor get rubbed relentlessly along a firm surface for several hours. He clicks his tongue in dissatisfaction.

Sorey grabs a brush from a nearby cabinet and pats the back of a chair in invitation. “C’mon. I’ll fix it up.”

“As long as there aren’t any scissors nearby.” He smirks at the indignation on Sorey’s face, sliding into the proffered seat.

“Aren’t you _ever_ gonna drop that? It’s been years!”

“Years, and I doubt your precision has gotten any better.”

Sorey huffs, but says no more, gathering Mikleo’s hair in one hand while the other holds the brush. He starts at the ends and makes his way up, sure not to pull too hard, and once Mikleo is knot-free, he spends an extra few moments brushing its entirety. Mikleo has no complaints; it feels quite nice.

“Do you have a ponytail holder on you? The wind might get to be kind of annoying when it blows dry hair into your face.”

He does, courtesy of Melody; there’s a band on his wrist, something he’s used sparingly throughout the years. He slides it free and hands it to Sorey, who pulls his hair into a high ponytail. He moves to stand in front of Mikleo’s chair, assessing his work.

His hand settles at his chin. Then, he smiles. “Yep. I knew it.”

“What?”

“You look cute!”

“Cute—! _Sorey_.” He stands with a huff, reaching back to feel his hair. In the past when he’d tied his hair up, it was a low and wet. He’s curious as to how it looks, but according to Sorey, it’s _cute_. “Are you set to go?”

“Heck yeah!”

 

* * *

 

From thereon out, Mikleo spends more and more time out of the water. Of course, everybody in Elysia takes note, and now that it’s become a common occurrence they aren’t shy about unleashing their questions.

Mikleo does his best to take everything in stride. It’s still very overwhelming, but most of the townsfolk understand. If the siren declines an invitation to do something, it’s not taken personally. They respect his pace and await his initiative.

As always, he’s usually with Sorey. Now that he’s become versatile, there’s not much reason for them to be apart. Nobody seems surprised by this.

Zenrus is especially pleased by Mikleo’s personal growth. One day, after Mikleo has turned eighteen, he calls for him while Sorey hunting with Ed and the others.

He sits across from him on his knees, keeping his best attempt at composure. It’s his guardian that Mikleo feels the need to prove his maturity to the most, after all.

“I’m sure you’ve deduced that once Sorey leaves Elysia, he won’t be coming back.”

“Ever?”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt he’ll visit. But his new home will lie with humans. And you’re sure to follow suit. Isn’t that right?”

Mikleo’s eyes flicker down to the floor beneath their knees. “I…” He lifts his gaze back up to match Zenrus’, resolved. “Yes.”

“Of course. Then, I must ask you: please, take care of him.”

“Me?” He blinks in surprise. “But… Sorey’s been practicing with a sword for years, hasn’t he? If anyone is able to defend him, it’d be himself.”

Zenrus nods. “That is true, of course. His physical strength improves by the day. But there are many creatures in this world that cannot be quelled by mere swordplay. There are problems guaranteed to arise that will not involve any sort of physical battle—but rather, within. Two heads are better than one; you and he have always proven to work well together. Do you understand?”

Mikleo considers these words carefully. Without Sorey, Mikleo wouldn’t be in this very room—a place he’d never even imagined seeing. Without Mikleo, Sorey would’ve easily wound up in terrible situations caused by his lack of impulse control.

“We balance each other out,” Mikleo responds softly.

“Yes,” says Zenrus.

“I’ll dedicate everything I have to keep him safe.” This, he’s sure of.

Zenrus smiles. His tone lightens into a warm, teasing lilt. “I know you will. I didn’t really have to ask, did I?”

 

* * *

 

 

They find another human in the depths of the Mabinogio ruins, and she won’t reveal her name.

Mikleo is instinctively wary of her. She can’t see seraphim, but the idea of an invader trespassing the borders of their homeland puts him on edge. What if there are more? She seems to have a sense of righteousness to her, nervous but polite—yet, it’d be all too easy to wear a façade. Her intentions are unclear and she doesn’t seem keen on revealing them, either.

But Sorey, the trusting fool, places his faith in her good will.

In the end, she stays in Sorey’s home. The seraphim are on edge; only a scant few take pity on her. Mikleo sleeps in the lake that night.

He intends to, at least. His own worry for Sorey and the other villagers keeps him wide awake. Supposedly, she’s leaving in the morning. The sunrise can’t come soon enough.

Mikleo passes the time by singing. He vents his frustrations and worries through the tune, lying on his back and floating in the middle of the lake. His long hair coils around his head and shoulders, swaying with each wave. He can see his breath coming out in thick, misty clouds. Even by his standards, the water is rather chilly. It’s no bother for him, of course, but he finally finds a bit of relief in knowing that Sorey is warm and cozy in his own home—rather than pestering Mikleo for _just a few minutes_ in the lake.

He realizes belatedly that he’s smiling: a fairly common occurrence these days, accompanied by thoughts of his best friend. It’s alright. Alone, he allows himself to keep the smile until it forms into a grin. Unfortunately his fear of the young stranger sobers him.

It’s as if the thought is her summoning.

He lifts his head as soon as he detects movement in his peripheral accompanied by the sound of footsteps rustling the grass. It’s then that he sees her, blonde hair tumbling down her back and wearing a dressed-down version of her armor.

Immediately, he prepares himself for her questions. _Why are you in the middle of the lake this late at night? Aren’t you cold?_

But she is silent.

Her gait doesn’t slow; within another breath she’s at the shore, and there’s not a single moment’s hesitation before she makes contact with the water.

“E-Excuse me!” he shouts, wishing for not the first time that he knew her name. He has several objections but they die in his throat when he catches the look on her face. It’s white as a sheet, drained of color and horrifyingly hollow. It seems though if the life has fled from her radiantly colored eyes. She doesn’t even flinch at the sound of his voice—it’s then that Mikleo realizes she might not have heard him at all, despite his clarity and volume.

Eventually, she speaks, the water slowly rising from her waist to her shoulders. “Mikleo’s your name, isn’t it? It’s lovely.”

As she moves toward him, he swims back. “Thank you,” he spits out quickly. “What are you doing? It’s too cold for you to be here.” He doesn’t bother with chastising her for entrance without permission; after all, she doesn’t know any better. As far as she’s concerned, Mikleo is human.

He expects her to demand an explanation for his immunity to the cold. Again, she doesn’t reply.

They’re nearing the deepest area of the lake, and Mikleo’s concern is spiking by the second. She’ll catch hypothermia if she stays for too long. Despite that, he can’t help but wonder how long she plans to tread these waters before exhaustion hits.

“You…” he tries again, feeling helplessness and desperation claw at his features. “If you want to talk, we can do so tomorrow before your departure. But you won’t be able to travel if you come down with sickness. Please, go back to Sorey’s and rest.”

“Mikleo,” she repeats, softly. “It’s a beautiful name. _You’re_ beautiful, too—like what I’d imagine a seraph to look like.”

When she reaches for him, he flinches, finally resorting to his abilities in an attempt to push her away. He manipulates the waves of the ocean to force her back to the shore, closing in on himself and squeezing his eyes shut. An unexpected feeling of nausea washes over Mikleo, gaining severity the further she drifts away. He does his best to ignore it, focusing on keeping the woman at bay; he hopes that she’ll run off, whether in fear or in understanding…

But she _doesn’t_.

She stays the whole night, wrestling uselessly with the waves and continuously failing to battle the onslaught. Mikleo doesn’t know what to do—he only knows that her behavior isn’t normal, that his instinct to keep her away from him seems to have saved her from drowning due to this _obsession_.

When Sorey appears at dawn, looking panicked, he immediately shifts his gaze to the girl and gasps.

“What’s going on?”

It’s as if the sound of Sorey’s voice snaps the blonde out of her daze. She collapses against the wet sand and finally, _finally_ , Mikleo allows the lake to settle. He watches Sorey rush to her side. It’s the last thing he sees before plunging himself into the water and deep below the ruins.

 

* * *

 

Much later in the day, when the sun beats low above the surface, Mikleo can hear Sorey calling his name.

He feels sluggish and achy, too concerned by last night’s happenings to have gotten even a wink of sleep. Still, he doesn’t keep the human waiting. He emerges near the shore.

“Mikleo!” he repeats, relief coloring his tone. The siren doesn’t hide his confusion as Sorey bounds toward him and wraps warm arms around his frame.

Lips parted in a half-formed question, he wiggles in his grasp. “Sorey… Your clothes are getting wet.”

“It’s okay. I’m more worried about you. The others have said they’ve stopped by throughout the day but nobody was able to reach you.”

“Really?” That’s news to Mikleo. He hadn’t _heard_ anybody. Then again, it’s possible he’d been tuning them out. He’s been said to have selective hearing. “What happened to the girl?”

“Alisha.”

Mikleo blinks. “Huh?”

“That’s her name.” He pulls out of the hug, settling his hands on Mikleo’s shoulders instead. “She introduced herself before she left. She also told me to extend an apology to you. She really had no idea what happened last night—nor does she even _remember_ much of it, either.”

Mikleo averts his eyes to the ground. “I wish _I_ could say what happened. Her entire demeanor was strange—nothing like the way she’d acted when we first met her. What worries me is the way she refused to leave the lake, as if…”

“As if she wasn’t in her right mind.”

He nods, looking back up at Sorey. “We should ask Gramps if he has any ideas.”

Sorey nods with a sound of affirmation. “But we’ll save that for tomorrow. You look exhausted.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“C’mon, you know I’m just looking out for you. It’s getting late, anyway. Come sleep over at my place?”

He does, of course. His worries are slightly quieted as he lay next to a softly snoring Sorey, sprawled out as if he has not a care in the world. Still, Mikleo’s rest is delayed by a few troubled hours before he finally succumbs to sleep.


End file.
